Blog Design by:

3.04.2008

I am a magazine whore. Seriously. My living room collections rivals those found in hair and nail salons. I buy them like it’s my job.

But let’s be honest. I need to see what Nicole Richie’s baby looks like (and no, looking at the child in the grocery store line will not suffice – I must gaze upon the babe in the comfort of my OWN home), I need to know “150 Easy Ways to Go Green – In every room! For every Budget!”, it’s imperative that I find “Free Stuff & Great Deals – In This Issue on p. 134”, I’d like to learn a few “No-Cook Recipes for Healthy Meals” and I’m a little intrigued as to why Angelina Jolie stood Jennifer Aniston up at the “Night Before” Oscars party. So, you see, I don’t have much of a choice.

I’m perfectly aware that I would be far less worried about money all the time if I purchased fewer (or no) magazines (or books, for that matter, but those are far easier to justify) all the time. Being that I am aware of that fact and still choose to buy them says to me that they are, in some small way, contributors to my happiness and well-being.

Little, glossy, 150-page contributors.

I can see the poorly-hidden disdain in Cute Boy’s eyes whenever we pass a bookstore and I can’t get to the corner without going inside and purchasing at least two books and one magazine.

But it’s these little things that make me happy and he should consider himself lucky that a Magazine/Book Whoreasaurus is the only kind of Whore I am.

1 comments:

In the last year, I somehow accumulated a ridiculous number of subscriptions. Weeklies: New Yorker, Business Week and The Week. Monthlies: Town & Country, Elle, Bazaar, W, Philadelphia, Kiplinger, Sherman's Travel, Bon Appetit & Bee Magazine. I'd show up for a pedicure with a wheelie tote of reading material. Thank GOD they've started to die off.